


Mirror Mirror, Why Won't You Let Me Hide From Me?

by midas_touch_of_angst



Series: A Series of Unfortunate Events - One Shots [4]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Descendants (Disney Movies) Fusion, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inner Dialogue, Introspection, One Shot, do i care? no, is this a bad idea for an au? probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 08:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20579609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midas_touch_of_angst/pseuds/midas_touch_of_angst
Summary: When Carmelita didn’t want to think about things, she danced. When she did need to think about things, she danced. This supposed contradiction meant that sometimes, unfortunately, when she danced for one reason, the opposite of the desired outcome occurred.Disney Descendants AU One-Shot. I have no regrets.





	Mirror Mirror, Why Won't You Let Me Hide From Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I have like two minutes to post this before class starts so:
> 
> \- Disney Descendants/ASOUE AU info: https://unfortunate-stranger-losers.tumblr.com/post/185755086093/
> 
> \- Full tag for the AU: https://unfortunate-stranger-losers.tumblr.com/tagged/disney-descendants-vfd
> 
> \- Carmelita specifically: https://unfortunate-stranger-losers.tumblr.com/post/185955780590/a-series-of-unfortunate-events-disney
> 
> \- I have no regrets 
> 
> \- Here's the song this was based on: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trfkk_Fletw

When Carmelita didn’t want to think about things, she danced. When she  _ did _ need to think about things, she danced. This supposed contradiction meant that sometimes, unfortunately, when she danced for one reason, the opposite of the desired outcome occurred. 

One such incident happened shortly after her transfer, when she had a rough enough time with schoolwork and staring and too many people snapping at her in the halls and too many unaware teachers telling her the wrong things. 

So, after Isadora had crashed on her bed and immediately passed out, and Fiona had slid to the floor to rearrange her daggers, Carmelita had mumbled to her about going into one of the ballrooms, and slung her dance bag over her shoulder, and hurried out. 

It took her several minutes and more than one stop to re-check a directory hanging on a wall, but she eventually found a small dance room. She peered in, flipping on the light, and surveyed the area. The walls were all mirrors, the floor was wooden, and the ballet bars looked recently cleaned. Very different than she was used to, but she could run with it. She could run with a lot of things. If there was anything Wonderlanders could do, it was improvise. 

She let the door slam shut behind her, and she zipped open the pink duffel bag. Her dance clothes were in there, but for now she just needed her shoes. She didn’t need a full costume change for this. 

_ Damn, Carm, you  _ are _ upset. You’ll take any excuse for a costume change.  _

Carmelita shook her head, feeling her curls hit her face, almost tickling her. Hopefully it wouldn’t get in her face too much while dancing. It usually didn’t, but… well, she might need to cut again soon. 

She dug out the portable music player, buried beneath the leotards, and placed it beside her as she slid her uniform shoes off. You know, come to think of it… she should change. The uniform was tight and uncomfortable and she wouldn’t want to spin in it. The red-and-black outfit should be good enough. She liked the way it felt when the dark skirt swung around her. 

As soon as she had the outfit on, she sat again to slide on her shoes, and then she pushed the duffel bag and discarded uniform beside it into the corner. Then she put her music player atop it, and pressed play. 

It started with a slow piano melody, enough for Carmelita to get herself into place and stretch slightly. It wasn’t as if she was out of practice, she danced when she could, but she hadn’t had alone time for several days, she didn’t want to lose her skill. No, right now, she just wanted to lose herself. 

She had choreographed this song herself, she could do it. First position, hold. Second, third, fourth. Then repeat, but mirrored. 

Just lose yourself. Don’t think, Carm. Dance. 

That worked until the first Épaulé. But then her mind wandered into processing mode instead of the buzz she’d hoped for. Thinking over everything. 

She could deal with glares. They were to be expected on the Isle. They were to be expected at home. She knew she’d get a lot when she was told she was to come to Auradon. Hell, she got glares from her friends- were they friends? Did Isle kids have friends?- when she said something wrong, or did something too loud, or just talked too much. She could probably live with their glares the most, because there was never that much hatred behind them. Sometimes there was none at all. 

_ Pas de basque balance, Carm. Focus on that. Pas de basque.  _

You can live with it, Mel. You can live with the glares. The whispers in the hall. She could deal with worse things. Just the other day, she found several ripped pages of poetry stuffed into her locker, drawings of her decapitated head in red ink thrown over the words, as if she wouldn’t recognize that it was  _ The Walrus and the Carpenter  _ that way. She’d choked back the fear, as she’d trained herself to do, and laughed and stuffed them into the bottom of her bag. They thought that could scare her? On the Isle, she’d had to fight to survive. She never stopped fighting. If they thought silly pictures could scare her… silly pictures reminding her that she didn’t belong… 

_ Chassé. _

She wondered if any of them knew. Knew what she lived through back home, if they thought simple school bullying could send her back. She remembered, when she was eight, Fiona had tossed her a stick, picked up one of her own, and told her that if she wanted an alliance, she’d have to fight for it. Carmelita had failed, of course, but Fiona said something about her doing “decently enough” that they could “work on it.” Carmelita didn’t care, then, that she had dirt on her face and at least two new bruises and a scrape on her knee from when Fiona kicked her into the sidewalk. Because after that, Fiona protected her. 

_ Passé. Pas de Bourrée. Failli.  _ Was that the right order? It felt right. 

Well, Fiona protected her from the kids on the street- and sometimes the adults on the street, if they were unfortunate enough to cross someone older than them. It did pay to have a pirate by your side. And when the triplets were there, she was completely invincible while outside. 

But that was only while outside. 

_ First position. And spin. Passé. Stop thinking. Passé.  _ Stop  _ thinking.  _

Look up. Speak nicely, and don’t twiddle your fingers. 

_ Stop thinking.  _

Turn out your toes. Curtsey. Open your mouth a little wider, and always say “yes, your majesty.” Not, “yes, Mom,” or “yes, Mother,” or god forbid any form of  _ no.  _

_ Développé. _

She couldn’t afford to get scared at home. If she got scared, if she got weak, then she wasn’t worth keeping around. Off with her head. She’d heard her Mom shout that at her more than her name, but so long as she stood her ground, nothing would happen. She couldn’t afford to let the cards listen to Mom. 

_ Arabesque. And spin. Pirouette. Listen to the music. It’s getting faster. Pirouette again. Stop thinking. Is this the right dance?  _

Dad never stood up for her. He was polite when Mom wasn’t around, smiling and helping her with her hair or dance practice or sewing. He thought he loved her. But he never stood up for anyone. Never dared consider pissing off his wife in order to give his daughter a bit of leeway. A bit of freedom. She wanted to play. She wanted to come home and not get into another hour-long shouting match because she was streaked with dirt and paint. She was just having fun. 

_ Stop thinking. Fondu. Fouette.  _

Her Mom hadn’t wanted her. She wanted a doll. A pretty doll who would listen and curtsey and speak when spoken to and  _ there is no “your way” there is always my way, and curtsey while you’re thinking, it saves time, and no questions. No questions.  _

_ Plie. Pirouette. This is the wrong dance.  _

Her Mom had no time for babies, and she had no time for toddlers, and by the time Carmelita was old enough to not be a nuisance, she still had feelings. And by God did her Mom try to make her get rid of those. But she’d cracked. She’d gotten sick of it and said no more. No more poofy dresses, no more long hair, no more blank faces, no more silence, no more  _ stillness.  _

She sometimes wondered if it was worth the shouting and scolding and abuse and hatred. If it would’ve been easier to remain a doll. 

_ Pas de couru. Hold.  _

_ The music’s getting faster. Stop thinking and spin.  _

And stop being mean to your mother. She’s fine. She just wants perfection. She still helps you with your hair, and your clothes, and tells you how adorable you are, and lets you do your dance. It could be worse. She could be more relentless, like the triplets’ mother. She could be less present, like Fiona’s. She could be a flipping hero. 

But she wants a doll. And you’re not a doll. 

Carmelita shut her eyes as she finished her arabesque, and started a spin as the music grew louder and louder and louder. 

You’re not a doll. 

Then what are you? 

Well. If these kids had any say, she certainly wasn’t a hero. 

Whether or not she wanted to be… 

_ Fouette. Fouette.  _

Stop thinking.

_ A breath, and then again.  _

Your mother doesn’t love you. Your father doesn’t love you. The cards are too scared to love you. Nobody home loves you. Nobody here loves you. 

The only place she belonged was here, in the dance room. 

But even this wasn’t hers, and it wasn’t to last forever. 

_ Fouette. Fouette, and… and…  _

She collapsed, just as the song dropped back into a quiet, simple tune. She took a moment, doubled over, her palms stinging from their quick contact with the ground, her breath coming in sharp gasps. How fast had she been going? 

“Carmelita?” 

She shut her eyes, still catching her breath, as the song faded out. Gone. Done. 

She finally looked to the door. Klaus was there, watching. Damn it. Damn hero kid. 

She hoped her glare would be enough to send him away, but he still stood in the door. “Hey, I was just… I heard music.” 

Stay silent. Don’t let him see you feel. 

Klaus bit his lip, and then walked in, and sat across from her. He looked over, and she met his eyes. There was some emotion she didn’t recognize there. Like he was sad for her. 

She glanced to her music player. It had stopped completely. Must’ve gotten stuck before the next song could begin. Figured. 

She turned back to Klaus, and met his eyes again, and the two of them fell silent for a very long time. 


End file.
